


Target Zero (or, The One Where Benedict Meets a Ballsy Fan and Has Some Fun With It)

by lilbakonbit



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Academy Awards, Breaking into a party to meet Benedict, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, POV First Person, Sneaking Around, dares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbakonbit/pseuds/lilbakonbit
Summary: I was dared to do it. How could I say no? If it meant I could meet Benedict Cumberbatch in person, I might just do anything. Including fake a job at an Academy Awards after-party to get a picture of him. Just got to get to him is all.Except, he got to me first...





	1. Getting In

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a quick fic that has been playing in my mind. Thought it would be cute. 
> 
> I do not own Ben. I do not know Ben. I do know he's happily married. I don't ever want to hurt the guy. 
> 
> But damn. Come on! Enjoy this little AU single!Ben fluff, for goodness sakes!

“I _dare_ you.”

The words left a lingering echo in my ears as my best friend Rachel flashed a mischievous grin in my direction. She leaned back in her weather-worn patio lounge chair and took a swig of her drink.

“I dare you to get that selfie next weekend. And it has to be someone famous. No cheating and getting a photo with a stagehand or reporter. Bona-fide, A-list celebrity. And your pretty brown eyes better be in the shot, or it doesn’t count!”

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was getting myself into, but the adrenaline junkie in me steadily grew ecstatic as my mind began to formulate exactly _how_ , not _if_ , I was going to break into the private award-show after party next Saturday night in Los Angeles. Rachel had caught wind that there was to be a secret party for a handful of invite-only guests just down the road from Dolby Theater. It was to be held at the Loews Hollywood Hotel for the A-List celebrities known to be lower key than the rest. For those who prefer to stay out of the extreme lights of fame, but still have a good time. How she had found out didn’t matter, but for some reason or another she had a keen way of gathering the juiciest and most dangerous gossip in Hollywood. And I was to be thrown into the middle of it all. On a stupid dare.

My coworker Amy’s brother worked for the hotel in question, but how was Tom going to get me past the security and into the thrall of actors, writers and directors unnoticed? It’s not as if he was the voice of authority there. He simply bartended. And I wasn’t high enough on the talent list to be a guest. I haven’t even graduated from understudy yet.

“What do you even think I’ll be able to accomplish, my dear Rache? Stealth around until I get within a breath of, oh, Mila Kunis or Bradley Cooper and just say, ‘Oh surprise, here’s my camera in your face! Ta-ta!’ and dart to the nearest exit?”

“Yes.” Incredible. Not only is she expecting me to break into a low-key but tightly secure hotel party, she wants me to snap a photo before I’m arrested and thrown to rot in jail. And my petite frame wasn’t built for prison rules. I was definitely going to be bottom bunk, bottom bitch to a woman twice my size by day one.

“You’re out of your mind, Rachel.”

“Yes. But you’ll do it.” She stated it so matter-of-fact, it came out as a command.

“Why?” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest, holding my beer bottle against my forearm. It was a show of indignation, but deep down I knew what she was going to say. I knew she was right. I don’t back down from a dare. The game was already on.

“Because I know who’s going to be there. And,” she paused for dramatic effect, “I bet you my two front row tickets to see Hamlet in June that you can pull it off.”

My arms dropped, as well as my jaw. _Wow. I guessed wrong_. “But… you’ve been looking forward to that play for ages…”

Rachel smiled, her eyes twinkling. “And that’s how confident I am you can do it. You’d never take that away from me, would you, Leah?”

I shook my head, turning to pace between Rachel and my set of patio furniture on the back deck to my home. I took a drag of a cigarette and paused to look up at the stars. The night had rolled in effortlessly, and the auto lights above my sliding glass doors popped on, dimly illuminating my back yard. Rachel had come over for a few beers and a chat, of which the topic of the upcoming Academy Awards had come up. And of course, in her signature brilliant way, she had turned the fantasy day dream of being able to rub elbows with the rich and famous at an after-party into a suicide mission. Leave it to a craziest thespian I know to come up with insane lifestyle choices. And drag my just-as-insane ass into it all.

“No. I wouldn’t. But—“

“Tut-tut. You’ll do it, and you’ll have a blast. Call Tom in the morning, use your girl-next-door charm on him and convince him to hire you as his bar back for the night. I know I heard he wanted to add some staff to help out. If that doesn’t work, talk to Amy about snatching the keys to the backdoor and we’ll get you to sneak in.”

“You were a criminal in a past life weren’t you?” I shook my head, breathing in the cool air to alleviate the nerves that threatened to overtake my body. It was a bloody brilliant idea to apply for the part of a desperate out-of-work actress to get a job, but breaking the law to meet a celebrity wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do next weekend. Apparently Rachel thought this mission should be top priority, however. Something must have caught her attention, and that had me curious. _What are you up to, Rache?_

“Probably. Or a professional stalker.” Rachel laughed, swigging down more of her Coors. “Come on. Aren’t you just the least bit curious of who I found out was going to attend said party?” Her cockeyed grin actually gave me a chill. If anyone knew how to rile up my inner fangirl, it was this damned wonderful woman.

“Who?” I asked cautiously, my eyes locked onto hers. “Ryan Reynolds? Isla Fisher?”

“Nope and nope,” she responded, laughing behind her drink. “It’s actually quite… elementary, my dear Leah.” Her eyebrow raised in a mocking fashion.

I froze.

“ _No_.”

“Yes.”

“Oh no.”

“Ohhh yes. And you’ll do it now because you want a sip of that delicious drink of water, huh?”

_Fuck my life. And fuck her for being right._

\-----

“Now, listen. Tonight’s going to be a bit rough. I know you’re new to all this but I think you’ll be fine. I’ve seen your work, Leah. You’re an _actress._ Play the part.” Rachel beamed at me as she tied the back of my apron tight against my lower back and gave my rear a pat. “Just keep saying, ‘I’m a waitress. I’m going to make mad money. I’m going to get that photo of Ben for Rachel and win my bet!’ I believe in you, Leah!”

Indeed it ended up Tom did need the help for the after party in question. He wasn’t quite positive how much calamity to expect so he had the intelligence to hire on two additional cocktail waitresses and a handful of bar backs just in case things got out of hand. At first he laughed at me when I told him I wanted the job, pretty sure I was joking. But I had put on my game face, pouted and told him I was desperate for a small gig for my woefully dwindling bank account. Which wasn’t extremely inaccurate, if I were to be honest. And I wasn’t surprised he bought into it.

Now, all that was left to do was sneak my phone into my outfit, put on my best cocktail waitress act, and knock them dead. Oh, and get the picture. Of Benedict Motherloving Cumberbatch.

Rachel’s idea, of course. The damn woman just had to pick the worst possible candidate for me to sniff out for this dare. She knew how I felt about Benedict. She knew how insanely difficult it would be for me to approach him. She knew that any reservations I had about the dare itself were nothing compared to the chance to touch, smell and look upon the man that invaded my fantasies and dreams. Oh she fucking knew what she was doing. And it was deliciously cruel. _Kudos, sweet Rachel_.

“Tom’s expecting me in about twenty minutes, Rache. Stop fussing!” Rachel had taken to tucking stray hairs into my bun and picking at my clothes not unlike a mother sending her firstborn to their junior prom. I shooed her away when she attempted to lick her fingers and smudge at a spot by my right brow.

I was given permission to wear anything I wished, as long as it was solid black and white colors. I had settled on my interview black slacks, which hugged my curvy hips nicely, draping fabric down across my thighs to make them appear slimmer than they were. As for a shirt, I had one perfectly fitting button down dress shirt with three quarter sleeves, embroidered with small black stitches across the collar and seams at the front. It held my medium sized chest up a bit higher than normal, without it being obscene or distracting. However, that changed if I had the nerve to unbutton one top button and the lace of my white bra peeked from beneath the fabric. To finish it off, I tied my hair in a high bun with a black and white ribbon and wore my two inch heeled black boots.

“Think I should gloss or stain?” I asked, posing in front of the full length in my bedroom. I gave a glance over my shoulder, noting the lack of color on my lips. Not that it mattered, but after the bold smoky eye makeup, it looked pretty off. Boring.

“Oh, gloss. Kissable, and easier to reapply if it comes off.”

I stared at Rachel blankly. Why on God’s earth would she think I’d need kissable lips? I’d be working as a waitress, not a prostitute. “If you say so,” I replied instead, rolling my eyes as I turned on my heel to head towards the bathroom.

My phone buzzed against my chest, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Showtime, huh?” Rachel smirked, flopping down on my bed. There wasn’t enough deep breaths in this lifetime to calm the sudden flopping of butterflies that threatened to destroy my stomach.

“Yeah. Wish me luck.”

As I walked out into the hallway towards the front door, I pulled out the phone from my bra strap and glanced down.

_~Meet me outside. -Tom~_

I replied quickly, re-tucking the phone in its secret hiding place as I hurried out the front door towards what could be the craziest night of my life.

\---

The chatter was absolutely insane. Numerous people bustled here and there around the lounge, mostly setting up tables and chairs to prepare for the night’s festivities while some discussed game plans as to who would work which sections when the party started to get into full swing.

Across from the lobby, someone had turned on the television so we could catch glimpses of the Award Show while we prepared. Occasionally I’d hear a hoot or holler as someone was announced, though to be honest, I never was a fan of these contests or shows. Maybe it was years of being disappointed, watching as my favorite actors and actresses, some I looked up to, being bypassed yearly for what I thought were lesser, or less talented, performances. Johnny Depp, Robert Downy Jr, Benedict Cumberbatch himself. All deserving. All award-less. It was quite a shame, really.

The only thing tantalizing about the awards shows nowadays was in fact the same reason I was here tonight putting up this front. A chance to see all the personalities come together. And of course, secretly, a chance to see Ben in the flesh. Oh and win a bet. Can’t forget the bet.

“Oh god, what is my life? This is absolutely insane,” I muttered as I helped retrieve napkins from the back of the bar.

“What is, dear?” Tom asked. _Did I say that out loud?_

“Oh, just what we’re about to do,” I replied quickly, flashing a confident grin. “We’re about to be serving some of the higher echelon of thespian society tonight, without a second thought.”

Tom grinned knowingly. “Oh, you’ll be having seconds thoughts, trust me. And third. And fourth. I know why you’re, Leah.” _Uh oh. What does he mean by—_ “One glance at Tom Hiddleston or Clive Owen and when your heart skips a beat, you’re going to be stumbling over your orders like a star struck teenager.”

I scoffed. Convincingly, I hope. “Nah. I wouldn’t worry about that, boss. I’m here to make money, not star gaze.” _Bullshit!_ My brain fake sneezed at me. I blinked hard, not realizing how potent my subconscious had gotten over the last few moments. Dammit, I better keep my cool, lest I blow my cover on this assignment. If Tom or anyone else working tonight caught wind of what I was really doing here, I’d be a goner. I’d cease to be. Or at the very least, be fired and banned from Loews for life. Though, as much as I want to assume the worst, I know I just have a flair for the melodramatic. Welcome to Thespianism 101.

“It’ll be fine!” I singsonged, flashing a strong smile.

_It better be. Or I’m screwed._

Around ten o’clock, people began to trickle into the establishment, mostly supporting cast and crew members from many different projects, but occasionally a big name would walk in the doors and there’d be a holler of welcome from the crowd. From what I could gather, the louder the welcome, the more likely they won an Oscar that night.

I did my rounds, walking to and fro between the back end of the lounge and the bar, tending to drink orders and offering glasses of champagne to those who were drink-less. At one point, I did, in fact, catch a glimpse of Clive Owen and my heart did, in fact, skip a beat. I swallowed the feeling down immediately however, if only on the principal of not proving Tom right. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling me out as a fangirl. Not this night.

Oh, how wrong I’d be in t-minus twenty minutes however.

More and more people showed, and more and more drinks were delivered. To be totally honest with myself, I was actually quite enjoying the position as cocktail waitress, at least for this event. I rubbed elbows with many rich and famous celebrities, and even had a lovely chat with Mr. Joss Whedon, who had shown up with a couple of his writers.

As I turned to make my way towards the waiter station once again to refill my tray, I heard a bit of a ruckus coming from the front entrance. Curious, I strained my neck to see over the now-large crowd and heard a few high pitched squeals coming from outside. The door opened, and a tall, lean man stepped inside, his coat hiding his face and neck considerably while his hands held down his hat. It wasn’t until the man was securely inside and the door shut behind him that he flipped down the lapels of his coat and tossed off his brimmed hat. I watched him shake out his tousled dark curls with slender fingers and my heart tried to leap out of my throat with force enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

_Benedict Cumberbatch was here._ Target Zero had walked through the doors. 

_The game is on. Player One, ready._

 


	2. Getting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it...

** Chapter 2 **

****

Damn security. I’d been trying for nearly an hour to get in proximity of The Man for a quick photo, but every time I think I’m in the clear or get close enough to practically smell him and his spicy cologne, someone in a black suit and tie with a damn earpiece steps up behind, beside or in front of Ben. I was about to lose my patience with this whole bet. Call it a draw and just finish out my shift, go home happy to have made some decent cash, and tell Rachel to keep her tickets to Hamlet. It wasn’t worth the risk of my freedom or sanity.

Then, as I was daydreaming about how to tell Rachel I’m failure and I no longer had the will to live as I wasn’t able to carry out my dare, the unexpected happened. I turned back towards Target Zero momentarily to see if he was accessible, and my stomach did a front handspring into a bucket of butterflies. Benedict Fucking Cumberbatch was looking at me. No, _staring_ at me, and with what appeared to be an amused, knowing grin on that damn handsome face of his.

 _Look away, idiot. Look away look away look away._ I kept eye contact for what seem to be ages, frozen in place by his oceanic green eyes. Our focus stayed steady, and a million wild thoughts jumbled into a hot mess in my mind. _Why is he staring? Did I have an alien on my forehead? Is he plotting my murder? No maybe he’s deducing me like one of his Sherlock girls… Oh wait, is he actually smiling wider? Oh no, he IS plotting to kill me, oh god I messed up! Abort mission! Abort miss—_

“Leah, come here a moment please. Table 8 is needing a bottle of Ruinart,” I heard Tom’s voice startle me back to reality over the din of the party, and whilst keeping my gaze on Ben’s suddenly hypnotic smile, I trek back to the bar with a deep, shaky sigh. I finally look away, feeling my cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand open-palm slaps against my skin. Benedict… had noticed me.

_There goes subtlety right out the window._

“Yes Sir. On my way,” I replied, working my way back towards the cooler. As I returned a few moments later, I tried to fixate back on my target but he was now nowhere to be seen. I shook my head clear and approached table 8 with champagne in hand, determined to save face at least for the rest of the night. No matter losing my cool if I just admit defeat, right?

“Ruinart, Sir?” I stated in my best cocktail waitress voice, holding out the bottle for who I believed to be one of the producers of the film Manchester by the Sea. He nodded and I began to pour as he turned back to his companions, paying me no more mind. But, no matter how much I focused on the task at hand, that mischievous grin kept popping into the corner of my mental vision.

I continued for a few more minutes, pre-bussing and refilling waters and tonics around the room, keeping one keen eye out for you-know-who. Still, nowhere to be seen. _Bummer. Did he leave? Had I scared him off? I hadn’t even made any formal contact with him tonight. Maybe it was an emergency. Or perhaps—_

“Leah?” A soft voice spoke in my ear moments later when I returned to the bar after dropping off a vodka soda. I turned to see my fellow waitress Leslie looking up at me from the step below. “Hey, um, _Tom_ wants to see you in the hallway. You might want to go out there.” I noted her flushed cheeks and pursed lips attempting to hide a grin that all but threatened to overtake her whole face. If she had been a poker player, I’d have called out her bluff. But, in the semi-grumpy mood I had put myself in from this whole ordeal, I wasn’t about to play games with her or question it.

“Sure. Be there in a moment.” I finished towel drying my hands and placing my barware back into its cubby before smoothing out my dress shirt and heading towards the exit sign by the back hallway. At that point I figured I’d use the opportunity to get a breather from the commotion and stuffy air in the lounge anyway. If Tom needed my help with some mundane task, why not? Get me out of here and far away from this business. Or if he wanted to fire me, all the better so I can end this charade and go home to my cozy blanket and a cup of tea.

I turned the corner and pushed open the metal double doors to the hallway that lead towards the maintenance rooms, but as soon as I entered the quiet hall and turned left, I felt a hand press against my shoulder and gently, but insistently, push me towards the back wall opposite the door. I yelped out of surprise, and when I felt another hand against my collarbone, I felt a mild panic build up inside me and I went into fight mode, my melodramatic brain shifting into overdrive. It wasn’t for more than three seconds but I struggled pretty heartily, for my size anyway, to break free from the man’s grasp before I heard a deep baritone cut through the sound of my high pitched protest.

“Easy there, sweetheart. It’s okay.” I heard a soft laugh, and after the fog of panic cleared from my head, I looked up and found myself staring directly into Benedict Cumberbatch’s bright, amused blue-green eyes.

“Wha--- why are you trying to manhandle me!?” I blurted out, seemingly unsure of how to grasp the calamity of emotions inside my head at that moment. I had clung to disbelief and anger apparently. Lovely.

“I needed to close the door quickly, so I apologize for moving you so forcefully.” Ben dropped back a step, his large hands releasing my shoulders as I straightened myself back to dignity from the flailing about I had done.

“I—what is going on? You’re… I know who you are. _Why_ are you out here? With… Where’s Tom?” I took a glance around, finally noting we were alone.

And that was when it came crashing into one big pile of clarity right at my feet. Through the haze of wonder and awe, the anger and incredulity, the fear and doubt… One thought took a hard right turn into the forefront of my brain: I’m standing all alone next to Benedict Freaking Cumberbatch, extraordinaire.

_Please God, have mercy. I’m but a gentle soul, and I will repent my sins, if I can just keep my shit in check while we are alone. Give me grace, give me control of this damn babbling brain of mine. For. Just. One. Minute._

“You know, I honestly should be the one asking questions, my lady.” Ben grinned playfully, his plush lower lip disappearing between his teeth. I bit back a sudden urge to groan loudly. _Fuck._ “You seem to be a mystery to me as much as this situation is with you.”

I think I giggled. Maybe I snorted. Whatever it was, it was far from dignified and probably not the response he was looking for. I couldn’t help it, but when he spoke it was as if his voice plucked away any discretion I had left in my body to appear as calm and collected as I wanted to be. It was just… poof. Gone.

“Me? I’m not—“ I froze, but only for a moment after his hand reached up again to grasp my arm amiably. “I don’t—“ _Come ON Leah! Tell him you admire him! Tell him you’re sorry if you offended him! Tell him he’s the sexiest, most charming man you’ve ever seen! Anything! Don’t just gawk like a star struck high schooler!_

And, as if by some glorified miracle, Ben had the courtesy to break the silence. “Let’s start simple, shall we? What’s your name?”

“I—It’s, uh, Leah.” I stammered, and by the grace of God, I didn’t squeak.

“Leah…” He flashed a genuine smile. The sound of my name rolled sweetly and with a warm glow off his velvet voice, and I suddenly really, _really_ liked my name at that moment. “That’s a nice name. Well, Leah, call me Ben.”

I sighed shakily, involuntarily of course, and felt the flush across my whole being when his eyes twinkled again with that same amusement from earlier. “N-nice to have met you, Ben.”

“Likewise.” Ben straightened, his smile never wavering as he gestured for me to accompany him down the hallway. I pushed off from the wall behind me and was greeted with his arm looping through mine guiding me gently down the hallway.

“Now, I don’t do this with all the ladies, just so you’re aware.” Ben glanced down at me and raised his eyebrows as I looked up in wonder, and if my hand hadn’t gripped his elbow right then, I would have become a hormonal puddle on the tiled floor. Instead, another miracle, I was able to smile back and reply.

“Only random cocktail waitresses at parties, then?” I grinned playfully, but my face fell when his eyes steeled over.

“You’re no cocktail waitress, Leah.” I halted, but I think Ben expected that as he gave a gentle tug forward, not allowing me to stop walking. “But you’re not a threat either. And that has me curiouser and curiouser.” His voice had dropped lower as we reached the end of the hallway, and he unhooked his arm from mine to reach up and turn the handle to a dark wood door to our left. Ben swung it open, and then placed long fingers delicately at the base of my back, ushering me forward into the darkened room.

He followed suit and promptly flipped the light on. I spotted a two cushioned sofa pressed against the wall to our left, and a bistro style table to our right with three metal rung chairs. A look around the rest of the room indicated a break room of sorts. Possibly for cleaning crew or staff.

I didn’t have much time to glance around further when I felt Ben’s fingers encircle my right wrist. I turned only to glance up at his eyes studying me fiercely. After a beat, and just long enough for my brain to send a signal to the muscles by my vocal chords to send a vibrating sound known as a whimper through my throat, he let go.

“Please sit, Leah.”

“Why does this feel like an impromptu investigation?” I muttered weakly, thankful to be able to sit as my legs had suddenly fancied to become jelly. I crossed my legs at the ankles and folded my hands in my lap, again struggling to at least give the perception of calm, cool, and collected. When in reality, everything from the hairs on my scalp standing on end to the warmth in my lower tummy had me reeling and wanting to squeal in a bizarre mixture of fear and delight.

“In a way it is.” Ben’s voice softened and he sat next to me, his right knee a sliver away from mine. He leaned back, casually draping his arm across the back of the sofa and I felt a fingertip graze ever so subtly across my neck as it passed. I didn’t know my body could vibrate that hard…

“You aren’t what you appear to be. That part we’ve assessed. But,” he continued, leaning forward again and placing a hand on his knee, “what I want to know is, of everything happening tonight, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.” Ben crossed his legs at his knees, his left foot now brushing the cloth of my dress slacks near my calf. Oh, by George this man _is_ trying to kill me. I fucking called it!

“I mean, it’s obvious right?” I cooed, more confidence in my voice than I thought possible, even on a good day. I guess those acting classes were really starting to pay off. Oh, what a night to test them. “I’m a fan.”

Ben’s impish grin in response sent a shudder through my midsection. If a smile could be illegal… I’d have cuffed him right then…

“There are two types of fans, am I correct Leah?” I gulped. _Oh, he didn’t just…_

“Uh… I— Well…“ Nope. Uh-uh. Words had stopped. Coherent thought had stopped. Tongue had stopped, except the incessant salivating. But the thudding in my chest however… I felt a stray fingertip against my earlobe as he moved a bit closer to me, and I knew my life was over.

“Why are you here, Leah? What would you like from me?” His crooned words echoed in my brain as they jolted awake the inner desires that had lain dormant, by my own willpower, since this ordeal had started. _For starters, your mouth looks delicious. We’d start with that, against mine, of course. Then I’d love to feel those fingers through my hair, down my back. Please, talk dirty to me, whisper soft promises in my ear before you take my---_

“I just wanted a picture with you,” I derailed my lustful thoughts as quickly as they came, thankful once again for the answered prayers of common decency to stay as unflustered as possible. “That’s all.”

“Oh?” Ben’s smile grew wide as he leaned away from me a few inches. Pity. “Well, you could have just come up and said so, Leah.” _Keep saying my name, Ben…_ I closed my eyes tight, and reopened them when I was sure my faculties were back to normal.

“No, actually, I couldn’t have. I wasn’t supposed to have any mobile device or camera on my persons.”

“The whole, not a real waitress thing. You’re not supposed to be here.” It wasn’t a question. And I had to wonder if I was speaking to Benedict or had he somehow decided to play with me and go full blown Holmes on the situation. As silly, and as oddly arousing at that sounded, I silently hoped for the latter.

I flushed, hand in the candy jar style. “Nope. Incognito.”

“So, you somehow landed a, what? One night gig as a waitress through a favor of a friend then?” Oh… he’s good. Ben studied my response and I saw the flicker of delight in his eyes when I slowly nodded.

“The bartender is my coworker’s big brother.”

“I see…” His voice trailed as he leaned forward, resting his cheek on his knuckles. His eyes never left mine. “You went through all this, going through an interview process, getting hired, training, buying clothes for the job, just to work at the party tonight for the chance to get me to pose for a picture with you?”

“Well, you make it sound like it was a lot more trouble than it was,” I quipped, uncrossing my legs and adjusting so I faced him more directly. I lowered my tone. “Thankfully, I like trouble.” I reached over and brushed my fingers across the fabric on his knee and bit back my own smile as his body tensed considerably. Might as well make this worth it. Going to jail didn’t sound appealing earlier, but considering the circumstances… Ten minutes in heaven with Benedict Motherloving Cumberbatch was worth a few months in jail.

“Trouble huh? Been a while since I’ve had to deal with such a _petite_ amount of trouble.” As quickly as his body had stiffened, he relaxed again. Ben uncrossed his legs as well, mirroring my previous actions to face me. Except, as we sat facing each other, it actually hit me just how tall and muscular he was compared to me. Even while he sat, he towered over me. Oh dear…

“So, what?” my voice broke through, a bit unsteady, “the last trouble you encountered? Was it a bit taller? Perhaps had lighter hair? Darker eyes?” I blinked, suddenly realizing I was flirting. I. Was flirting. With Benedict.

_And he was flirting back._

He chuckled, leaning a bit more forward, one hand on the back of the sofa, and the other snaking down to make direct contact with my knee. His chameleon eyes had shifted to a darker olive green, twinkling with something akin to passion. My heart was going to erupt into a million pieces if he kept looking at me like that.

“No, but I sense this bit of trouble likes putting themselves in danger. Tell me I’m wrong, Leah.” It was at this moment my breath had officially left my lungs, as the powerful scent of whatever heady mixture of spicy cologne and natural scents that is Benedict Holy-Shit-He’s-Rubbing-My-Thigh Cumberbatch was made of hit me like a wave of pungent sexuality.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he repeated, his voice lowered to a dull roar in my ears, “or make it feel right, Leah. We have all the time in the world right now, you and me.” His head dipped low and close to my throat, as the ruffle of hair on his head tickled across the shell of my ear. I believe I might hyperventilate.

“I… I don’t know…” I managed to whisper. _Lies. All lies. You know what you want. You’ve always known. But he’s unobtainable. A woman’s fantasy as she lay awake at night, alone and wanting. There’s no way he’d ever--_

“I think you do. I call bullshit that you wanted just a picture with me. This,” he emphasized the last word as he took an impossibly long finger and hooked beneath my chin, raising up my face until my parted lips were a mere inch away from his, “is probably more along what you wanted.”

My vision burst with a thousand stars. Every nerve on my body was awoken in a buzz of desire as lips as soft and as velvety as the voice that comes from them pressed against mine. Fingers slowly made their way into my hair, and my body betrayed me, finding myself arching into the kiss like a desperate lover. His tongue ghosted my parted lips as if asking directions to my innermost desires. I moaned then, and a mirrored sound I had not expected vibrated into the kiss just before he broke away. When I dared to open my eyes, which took almost all remaining willpower I had left, I was met with a look that could only be described as ravenous.

“Was I correct, sweet Leah?” Ben asked, his fingers still wrapped in my hair as he massaged my scalp.

“That…” I cleared my throat, attempting once again to regain control of myself. “That might suffice.”

Ben laughed. And I mean, laughed. It was warm, hearty, and full of pleasure.

“Well, I aim to satisfy.” He stood and offered his hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me up, very shakily, into a sweet embrace. “Now, let’s get those pictures, shall we?”

\--

“You did WHAT?!?!?!” Rachel screeched as she barreled into my bedroom the next morning around 8am.

“I told you. I forgot my phone at the hotel. I’m sorry. I’ll go over there tomorrow and see if I can find it. And then you’ll have your proof.”

Rachel grunted and shoved me. “That is NOT what I’m talking about! You KISSED him?!”

“Oh. That.” I shrugged, nonchalantly flipping through a playbook. “It was okay.” _LIES! You about made a spectacle of yourself had he not stopped and switched gears._ Ugh, shut up conscience.  

Rachel looked as if she either wanted to punch me, or burst into tears. “You’re impossible. I think you’re full of shit. And the reason you don’t want to go get the phone is because you didn’t get the pictures, and you really didn’t lose your phone. You lost the bet! That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No! I honestly dropped my phone somewhere in the hotel! Serious!”

Rachel huffed. “Well I think—“

The doorbell rang, and we both looked at each other curiously.

“You expecting someone, Rache?”

“No. Are you?”

We both made our way down the stairs to the front door of our flat. I stood on my tiptoes to glance out the peep hole.

 _I think I’m going to choke._ Slowly, I unlocked the door and swung it open.

“Hello, Leah.” Ben’s deep tone floated over me like a warm breeze, the memories of last night flooding back into a heady fog.

“Hey, Ben. Long time no see.” I cocked my head to the side, trying to play it off. “What brings you here?”

“This,” Ben reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a rectangular item. “You left this on the couch last night after our… session.” He looked past me into the flat and gave a subtle wink toward Rachel. “Thought you’d like it back.” He grinned, and before I could protest or say another word, he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before descending down the steps again. He stopped however, and pivoted before reaching his vehicle.

“Oh, and by the way, nice background on your phone. See you around.” He hopped in his car and pulled out in reverse, leaving me, and apparently Rachel, absolutely speechless.

I looked down, stunned, at my phone. I pressed the lock key and saw an unfamiliar photo staring back at me. Benedict and I smiling goofily into the camera with our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. It was the last photo we had taken together last night before saying goodbye. I punched in my lock code and gasped as I had two missed calls glaring back up at me.

The caller ID said “Benedict C.”


End file.
